Boris Pasternak
July

Around the house a spectre’s straying.
All day it paces overhead.
In darkened loft the light is playing.
The house sprite strays with feather tread.

He causes grief — take that for granted —
He interferes with all we do,
In gown he slinks towards the bedstead,
He rips the cloth from table too.

With muddy feet he comes uncaring,
He rushes in with swirling draught
And soars to ceiling, greatly daring,
Lifts curtain high with dancer’s craft.

So who is he, this artful dodger
This spectral doppelganger-cad?
This wretched man’s our temporary lodger,
To dacha come to drive us mad.

For while he takes his little breather
We’re renting out a room to him.
July of thunderous summer breezes
Has taken it as if by whim.

July, who brings in on his clothing
A dandelion puffball cloud,
July, who through the window entering
Can only ever speak too loud.

The son of steppe, dishevelled sloven,
He brings with him the waft of hay
And beet and dill, along with linden,
His meadow breeze has come to stay.

Translated by Rupert Moreton